Cycle of Grief
by traffycake
Summary: One month shy of his 18th birthday, Yuri Plisetsky cannot face all the things his chaotic life has to offer. His mother lost in a whirlwind of beautiful lies, he is left to fight on his own in this cruel world. What he doesn't realize is that life will soon change for him, and this cycle might finally reach its end in the arms of a stranger with his own pursuit for freedom.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hello, everyone! This is an Alternate Universe fanfiction. More or less, this is the result of my interpretation based on the question "What would happen if Yuri didn't pursue ice skating and found himself in a bad familial situation?". Therefore, Yuri IS a ballet dancer with a lot of shit going on. As an additional warning, there will be some gritty and dark subject matter that is involved, such as physical abuse, drug use, and sexual assault, along with other things that may be added in the future. If there are more things to be added, I will continue to mention them in the author's notes. The main pair in this fanfic is, in fact, OtabekxYuri. However, there will be mentions of ViktorxYuuri, not to mention that they will also come into the story later on!**

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **~Traffy**

* * *

 **Cycle of Grief: Prologue**

* * *

Ignorance. Knowledge. Resistance. Realization. Anguish. Acceptance.

This is my cycle of grief.

What I'm grieving over is a little harder to place and explain. Finding one solid source is more difficult than most people could imagine.

First of all, the innocence that came with my childhood was short-lived - almost nonexistent. What left me a lifetime ago was currently unattainable, and what I found hardest to swallow had been coming to terms with this truth.

In addition, becoming a teenager during all of this felt like the end of the world; I found myself in denial and refused to accept this reality built around me. I didn't want to come to terms with the changes going on in my life, and I planned to go down fighting against the grain. Back then, it felt as though an entire decade and a half of my life had been wasted on living up to and accomplishing the dreams of someone who became nothing more than a crutch to the son she bore.

After all this time, it was when I decided to live by my own jurisdiction that I came to understand that I needed to forge my own path, whether that meant meeting expectations or not. However, I still haven't reached the point of accepting all the secrets I've discovered; now that I'm almost 18, I doubt I ever will.

Not much has changed in the two years after making the decision I did. I'm still pissed at my circumstances, but now, I'm done with petty bullshit; I've got worse problems to deal with and fewer people I want to open up this can of worms to.

I will become a stronger person on my own.

I'll finish this up and make it short and simple: my mother is a waste of space, her lover is all the more a waste of breath, and I'm wasting my time living in this house.

I just want out...but what keeps me here is knowing she wouldn't survive without me.

My name is Yuri Plisetsky, and I wish this cycle would come to an end.


	2. Ignorance Pt 1

**A/N: See the bottom for notes regarding this passage.**

* * *

 **I** **gnorance Pt. 1**

* * *

"Mom…"

I found her face down and sprawled out upon the carpet of her bedroom floor while I was preparing to leave the house. From the multiple occasions I've found her in this condition, I knew that she was still alive, but I couldn't help myself imagining that she could easily pass for a corpse to someone else.

It might be fucked up for me to think about my mother's death being a possibility, but preparing myself for the worst is quite the perk of mine.

I shifted onto my knees, crawled to her side, and turned her over cautiously. Her dark, sunken eyelids were shut tight as she remained motionless.

"Mom…MOM!"

As I gave a few gentle swats of my palm against her cheek, attempting to perturb her from the remainder of her slumber, she groaned and finally woke.

"Wha…? Yura-"

"Stop talking and use what energy you have to get your ass up, Mom. You can't black out on the floor."

During the barest beginning of my teen years, by the time I was twelve, I discovered my mother was addicted to prescription sleeping pills. Addiction was a concept that was somewhat vague to me, but I was aware that it made her less of a functioning person and more of someone who was dependent on everyone involved. As I got older, the clearer this truth revealed itself, and I came to understand just _how_ long she had been doing this. As I continued to obtain this knowledge, the more I detested being here to view it.

I couldn't help but wonder how many she had taken as I gave her support to stand. Her lack of self-care and nutrition was a haunting reminder, her body frail and thin even in comparison to my smaller frame.

"Yura…it's fine. I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Stop. Talking."

She finally fell quiet, lifting her fingers to brush messy, golden tangles away from her face. Mom almost seemed ashamed, but I wasn't sure if the distant gaze was actually an emotion or whether she was still trying to wake from of the haze of a drug-induced sleep.

Vitaliya Plisetsky. Once upon a time, this woman was a prima ballerina that was a sparkling beacon in society. Now? She's nothing more than a pretty pill-popper - one who didn't live a very pretty life behind closed doors.

It's a shame that someone who was so loved and admired by all of Russia had fallen this hard. Everything she built was brought to ruins, although she'd never let anyone hear a word of it. To the rest of the country, she had retired with grace and dignity to play her role as a mother, her smile plastered all over the media from the announcement. Old interviews and news broadcasts alike - even current articles that reflected on her accomplishments - agreed that their Vitaliya would cast an eternal light upon the world of ballet.

What she didn't let them see was that this light was the diminishing glow of a dying star, for what spark she had left was lived on through me.

"Get in bed, Mom." With how limp she was in my arms and how groggy she remained, it took a moment to ease her upon the mattress, gripping her by the legs and hoisting them up with the rest of her. "I want to say that I can't believe this, but here you are again. Grandpa would be disappointed."

"I'm sorry…" Aside from that, no response came after my comment, her head nestling into the soft, white ruffles of her pillowcase. Whether it was because she wasn't going to argue or because her mind was too clouded to process anything was, well, debatable.

"Just stay up there, and don't fall off." Getting her situated and tucked beneath her blankets, I turned to make my leave.

"Yura, don't go." She continued and reached out a hand, clasping hold of mine. "Stay with me a moment longer."

"I can't wait around, Mom. I have to be at the studio in 20 minutes."

"I'm..." She paused, eyes fluttering open. "I'm worried for you walking there by yourself. Could you at least take a bus?"

"I'm not wasting money on the bus. I walk to Lilia's on the daily. What's the use?"

"Then I'll get you money. Dmitri provides for us, Yura. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I spared a few Rubles to get you a month pa-"

"I don't want it."

"Yura, please-"

"No! Just keep it for yourself or something! I don't want his fucking money!"

Dmitri Zakharov, the man who took my mother as his fiancée, is the bane of my existence and the entire reason she's in this situation. She refuses to admit that he's bad for her...bad _to_ her. Considering how fond she is of him and the extremes she takes in making sure he's satisfied, I can't help but wonder if he's the only one whose happiness matters anymore.

Several people spare one glance at this house and think we're a beautiful, flawless family. They are blind to the man who lays hands upon my mother and runs illegal affairs for the Bratva. What they would think to know that he encourages Mom to fill herself up with chemicals, submits her to her vices by providing them, and leaves her for me to pick up the pieces day after day.

"Then let me-"

"I'll keep walking. It's not that big of a deal, Mom. I walk around St. Petersburg often, and I _always_ return home. You should worry more about taking care of yourself, but that advice is about as productive as me talking to a brick wall, isn't it?"

"I wish that I could say the words...to help you understand, Yura. I'm sorry."

My patience had been wearing thin for ages now, due to this shit. For as long as I can remember, it's been a woven series of lies that have unfurled in my grasp, and her apologies have become hollow to me. The more it happens, the less it hurts, yet the more she asks to be forgiven. I wanted to believe that all of this was hurting her, too.

In the end, her addiction and the glistening glass pedestal that defines her love for Dmitri are far more important.

If only she could realize that she's breaking the hearts of those who care about her. Even though the trips he made to St. Petersburg weren't frequent, Grandpa makes a constant effort to visit and talk sense into her. In fact, he's the only one on the outside who is aware of what happens here. With as many chances he's had to prevent her from damage, nothing ever gets through to her.

Therefore, keeping me from following the same path is what keeps him hopeful.

 _"Yuratchka, my grandson, lies can only be covered up to an extent. You can hide a body, but the rot of the corpse will emerge with time. I cannot dictate what your mother does with herself, but I can at least hope that you would never make those same mistakes."_

I can recall the frequent pleas made to my mother for me to live with him. Even with Grandpa being so far away, he's been more of a parent to me than I could ever gain here. I love and admire him very dearly, and if I could get myself to do it, I would leave to go to Moscow tonight and be at his door tomorrow.

However, even at a tender age, leaving her was not an option for me. That fact is the only reason why Grandpa has not taken further action.

"I really mean it. I'm sorry…"

"Stop apologizing, Mom. I need to head out now, or I'm going to be late. She's going to be pissed."

"Be safe. Ya lyublyu tebya."

I glanced back in the midst of leaving her bedside. It's sick. Of all the things she could say to me, she refuses to do the same. Hypocrite.

"You, too, Mom."

While I highly condemned her for her decisions, I hated leaving her alone all the more.

With a heavy heart, aware that she would most likely sleep off our conversation, I stepped out and closed her bedroom door.

* * *

 **Translations/Author's Notes:**

 **Ya lyublyu tebya/я люблю тебя = "I love you"**

 **Bratva = the equivalent of the mafia in Russia**

 **A/N: If you have any questions regarding Vitaliya or Dmitri, feel free to send them my way. Being the characters who represent the adults/parental figures in Yuri's life, I wanted to present the dysfunction right away. Be prepared to find out more of their past in future chapters!**


	3. Ignorance Pt 2

**A/N: See the bottom for notes regarding this passage.**

* * *

 **Ignorance Pt. 2**

* * *

If there was one aspect I prided myself in, it would be that I refused to let the stress of my family interfere with my dancing.

I've been involved with ballet from as early as toddlerhood, having joined my mother during many of her final practices and recitals. As I got older, it became a sacred experience that I desperately held onto and still do to this day.

The best way I could describe my feelings...is that ballet possesses significance in the foundation of the adult I'm trying to become.

I think what gets under my skin the most is that I can easily remember when my mother was still visibly in her right mind. My fondest memories of her are in this same studio, tying her shoes, braiding her hair, and performing at the barre - the same routine I follow now. Mom was a vision to behold in her prime - a true goddess of dance, as others put it.

Through the few years we were able to attend together, she had a saying she lived by that has been ingrained on me since:

 _"When you step through that door and into the studio, your life on the outside is forgotten. In here, you are an entirely new individual."_

So, I rewrote myself on a daily basis; with each pirouette, jeté, and glissade, I would transform into someone who was better than the last.

"Finish with an arabesque penché...keep your leg held high. Focus on your balance. Arm drawn back, head tilted forward, other hand outstretched towards the ground...you are a creature of grace and beauty, Yuratchka Plisetsky. You are vicious in precision and power - elegant, poised, _deadly_. You will present those qualities to your audience; do not hide who you are from me."

I am a force of nature - a force to be reckoned with. _I am untouchable._

"Fall to rest."

I lifted my body from the angle I held, turned a pirouette, and allowed my foot to fall, coming to rest in first position. I released a breath I didn't realize I was holding and straightened my shoulders.

There was silence...followed by singular applause.

"Perfection. You never fail to impress me."

Lilia Baranovskaya, my instructor - a woman with the ability to put the fear of God into her students with a single word - is currently my standing ovation.

My solo lessons with her were worth more than gold to me. When I began my serious pursuit of ballet, it seemed quite the opposite; I couldn't tolerate her constant barking and outrageous demands. I had been pushed to my limits more than I could stand, but with each improvement, my blossoming expertise was my ticket to receiving her praise.

I need your honest opinion, Lilia. Am I'm prepared enough?"

"I give nothing less than honesty, and I feel you are more than ready. Our recital is at the end of the month, and your progress has already surpassed expectations. All you must do is perfect it. The solo sessions have done you excellent and have kept your body in top condition. The extra days of training have not been interfering too terribly, have they?"

"No. Not at all. I practically live here."

"It is difficult not to notice. You make my studio your residence more than any of my other students." She folded her arms, keeping her focus in my direction. "Speaking of home, will your mother be planning to attend the recital?"

"I doubt it."

"Ah." Lilia nodded, beginning to step from across the room towards me. "I would have hoped to see Vitaliya again after such a time. Having worked alongside your mother to see her through fame, preparing her son for a career is no doubt an added highlight for her to treasure. I can easily imagine the thrill she would feel, returning to the dance hall of her youth and seeing you in it."

"She isn't that focused on her ballet anymore...if anything, she's content with me taking her place." With a shrug, I dropped my head. "Really, though, she's too busy. Her domestic life is tedious...and complicated."

"Yuratchka, the love for your art is an attachment of your soul, regardless as to how complicated a relationship is. It will eternally remain a part of you, as long as you want it to be." I could hear the bittersweet in her laugh as I felt her hand neatly situate the braided hair that fell down my back before gripping my shoulder. "If there is an additional piece of advice I will grant you, I would suggest that you never marry. You are far too beautiful to be taken from the stage like your mother was." She gave a thoughtful nod before finishing her statement. "Now, no more of that. Let's talk over tea before you leave."

"Sure. I could manage that." I obliged, following after as she lead me upstairs.

"Black tea, honey, cinnamon, and cream, as per your usual."

Settling down in a cozy seat within her lush living room, I draped my legs over one of the chair arms and stretched out along the other, nodding in approval and taking the dainty saucer which held my cup. The strain of today's work faded as I found myself at ease. Certainly, a warm drink would do my body well after a lengthy session in the midst of frigid February weather.

"Thanks, Lilia." I immediately took a deep drink, only to regret it no more than a second later as it scalded my mouth. I used what dignity and grace I had built up for my instructor to not spit it out as I painfully swallowed. "Haah! You always get it too hot!"

The reaction I received was a shake of her head as she claimed a seat in front of me. "Nonsense. The samovar heats perfectly. You simply are just as impatient and eager to rush as you were throughout your youth. Not only did you inherit your looks from her, you picked up several of Vitaliya's habits."

"Eh, whatever...I swear, though, it wouldn't surprise me if it eventually boils the fuck out of my tongue someday." I could already feel the uncomfortable sting of the tea's aftermath while working on another sip, being careful to blow at the steam and sip it gradually. Nope - definitely too warm for comfort.

"I partially retract what I said; _you_ are far more brash than she. Your language, Yuratchka; it is unbecoming of you to talk in such a manner, especially if you desire to present yourself as _my_ student." Tapping a nail a scolding upon the rim of the glass, her teacup was soon placed on the coffee table between us. "You may excel in your performance aspects and execution, but you have much to learn about yourself when it involves social presentation and mannerisms. You have an arduous journey ahead of you before you become prima, but I will train you to be proper yet."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes and chuckle as I curled my knees in, puffing another breath in a half-assed attempt to cool the inferno that was my beverage. "You can try as hard as you like, Lilia, but the fact will always remain that I'm not the typical prima candidate."

"You were not the only dancer who wasn't typical, Yuratchka. Vitya Nikiforov had the skills of a premier danseur when he was no older than you are. All this promise and accomplishment before he decided to retire...I was well aware that his love for ice skating far surpassed ballet, but to think he would give up both for marriage? Unbelievable."

"Screw him. That was his own choice to fuck up his career by running off with a foreigner."

"I will continue to tell you, Yuratchka Plisetsky. Language! You almost need that scalding of the tongue to remind you of that." Grimacing in my direction, Lilia crossed her legs and folded her hands over her knee.

"So, with Viktor-"

"I do not have plans to discuss this further."

"I'm not going to bitch about him anymore, Lilia! I want to know if you've heard from him since he decided to get hitched."

With a hum of displeasure, she gave in, nodding slowly. "He will be coming to St. Petersburg a week before the recital. Not to perform, of course, but at least he will be present. He is bringing his bride with him; therefore, we will have the opportunity to meet whoever encouraged Vitya to run away to Japan."

"Do you even know anything about his 'bride', aside from the fact that they're from Japan?"

"It is a young man, of course, who is four years Vitya's junior. I was told he met with him frequently during skating season, but aside from that, I received no further details. What little I do know, I have heard more than enough complaints with regards to it throughout the last few months." She muttered something and glanced towards her phone. "Which is why I do not wish to discuss it. You are more than happy to ask him when he returns. Vitya's decisions, while a shame, are his choice, so it does not affect nor concern you. That matter will not be spoken of further"

"Now, more importantly, you may not be the only in consideration to advance to be my prima, but you are now closer to that opportunity than any others I instruct. You are my only male _en pointe_ dancer and my only male who can sufficiently reenact female-oriented roles. You are a rarity in the ballet world, which will heighten interest for potential companies and schools alike. Some will force expectations onto you because you are Vitaliya's son and my pupil, but regardless of your family name, you have proven that you have the determination to reach your point of mastery. If you remain diligent and dedicated to your art, I will assist in helping you achieve it. Will you promise that for me?"

I lowered my cup slowly, leaning forward to make direct eye contact with the startling green of her irises.

"Lilia, I am the last person you have to worry about when the decision to pursue or not pursue my destiny is discussed. I was born to be a dancer, and I will create a spectacle of that for you and all the world to see."

A statement more blunt could not be spoken; she agreed, noting the smile that softened her sharp features not long afterwards.

"Those are words I like to hear, Yuratchka." The ceramic handle found its way hooked around her index finger as she lifted it to her lips. "Let us drink to your success."

Pushing my attention back to the teacup, I hesitantly sipped from the rim again, realizing that the tea inside wasn't as hot as it was when first given to me. I drank deeply and gave a refreshed sigh.

The days I decided to spend extra time with Lilia were my favorite. It was nice to be partaking in interaction with someone who invested in my future. I didn't doubt for a moment that being by her side would help me reach the goals I desired. I could tell that, while she definitely had her hands full with me, she enjoyed my company and actively celebrated the progress I made.

Being inside her home also gave me a means of comfort that was almost otherworldly. Her living space by itself was an experience, a private, comfortable loft situated above her impressive ballet. It contained more than enough space for a woman by herself, but just as she clarified, dedication to the art was first priority; if I was to be as successful as she, I would need to do the same.

I always questioned if she ever felt lonely, but marriage and companionship seemed to be a touchy subject for Lilia. Those few occasions that were casually discussing relationships would even turn her sour, and the topic would be discarded. I couldn't complain nor blame her for it; I expressed my preferences the same way. She was happy being alone, and so was I.

'Never marry' was what she told me.

My mother's relationship had provided enough to deter me from any of that matrimonial bullshit. From what I've seen involving relationships and marriage, you can't marry a person if you can't control them; if this were true, I would be the furthest example of a desirable spouse.

Lilia had nothing to worry about.

* * *

 **Translations/Author's Notes:**

 **(So much ballet terminology this time, guys...if you have questions, look here: /ballet-terms-dictionary/ )**

 **samovar - a Russian kettle used to heat water for tea**

 **A/N: I never mentioned that I really love writing for Lilia**

 **I also really enjoy how much of a connection she and Yuri share in this story.**

 **Next chapter coming soon!**


	4. Knowledge Pt 1

**A/N: See the bottom for notes regarding this passage.**

 **TRIGGER WARNING|| THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS: SEXUAL ASSAULT**

* * *

 **Knowledge Pt. 1**

* * *

 _"Are you certain that you should leave tonight, Yuratchka? I kept you here later than I anticipated. I have extra room."_

 _"I'll be fine, Lilia. I really should be heading out. You see me enough as it is, and I shouldn't overstay my welcome. Besides, a 15 minute trip isn't much of anything. I can manage."_

 _"You know you are welcome here, but if you insist. Just be cautious. With the snowfall and the dark, it does not supply a friendly combination."_

 _"I have the lights to guide me. See you tomorrow, Lilia!"_

 _"Spokoynoy nochi."_

 _..._

"Piss! It's too fucking cold out here!"

I don't know what else I would have expected while trekking through powder-lined streets. Although the sky held no sign of harsh weather, it was far too frigid of a night to be outside. I kept thinking 'it could be worse', and that alone was what got me moving.

When these streets beckon, it's my calling to listen to them.

Through countless nights I've done this. I've found myself uncertain as to what it is I should be looking for out here. An escape? Someone to save me…?

No. If so, I would be searching for a lost cause. This battle is my burden to carry, and it will remain mine until further notice.

Discovering sanctuary in the contrast of kaleidoscope buildings and colourless snow does a fine job at taking my mind off everything else, though. St. Petersburg really would be a beautiful place, if I had beautiful memories to fill it with.

This is nothing like growing up in Moscow with Mom and Grandpa.

Prior to living here, that was where I called home - the rolling hillsides, vivid summer fields of green that stretched for miles; a large, open pond, lined in thick foliage of fuzzy cattails and thick reeds, with glossy, clean water that shined like glass come winter; and twisting dirt paths that I've traveled by foot more times than I could count.

Even though several years have passed, I could recall happier times, both for her and me.

My heart still resides there with Grandpa. This was only a reminder of what I used to have - what we could've kept if we had stayed. She was a dancer for Bolshoi. She was surrounded by family. As far as I knew, Mom was satisfied with the life we had; I'm trying to figure out what it was that changed so abruptly.

Well, so much for taking my mind off things.

The haze coming from the streetlights enveloped my vision, casting shadows with each crunching footprint I made. The ice smothered the surface of the water and painted the top of the glittering river; I followed in its wake. Rubbing my hands together, I shuddered, knowing all too well that the jacket cradled close against my body was far from keeping me warm in this midnight hour. I should have been used to this by now, but being near the canal makes it numbingly cold.

I would still rather be here than to head back just yet. To be honest, if it had not been for my own pursuits in ballet under Lilia's instruction and tending to my mother's problems, I would have no reason to stay at all.

However, let's say that I was looking for a saving grace and a chance to leave. Taking all I've said into consideration, I could admit that I've buried myself within the crypt of my mother's secrets. So deeply, in fact, that I cannot live my own life to a full extent. There will never be room to let anything else inside because once the truth was found, I would be left to sink deeper within.

Besides, I already promised I wouldn't leave my mom. I don't plan to break that promise anytime soon. As long as she's here, I will remain.

Put simply, I'm never escaping this place; I'm fucked.

"Wanna fuck, gorgeous?"

 _...I definitely didn't mean like that._

How could I have forgotten that predators are so disgustingly common this late and prey on whatever they can scavenge?

I definitely felt sorry for the person who-

"Didn't you hear me? I'll show you a good time, if you put out!"

He couldn't be fucking serious.

I glanced in the direction of the catcall and spotted the culprit. Sure enough, his sights were set on me. The bastard propped himself upon the wall of a nearby club, flashing a grin with a beckoning gesture. "Yeah, that's right. I'm ready to play with you for the evening."

"I'm not."

"Now, come on. Don't be a tease." This fucker was relentless, deciding to move from his perch and come a little closer. I was happy to offer him a small portion of my time to 'acknowledge his efforts' and stop him in his tracks.

"Go fuck _yourself_ , buddy. I said I'm not interested." My disgust, well-evident, was punctuated with a scowl and a hoisted middle finger before continuing on my way.

Usually, these kinds of people didn't keep it up. They lurked about, yowling like cats in heat over the first thing that caught their attention, and then would retreat to the shadows from which they came, whether they were successful or not. More often than not they were intoxicated or desperate for a piece of ass - sometimes both. If they got lucky, they were gone to regret their decision in the morning.

It didn't hit me until I felt the sharp yank of my braid balled in his fist that I knew I had done something I would regret instead.

"Don't think I haven't seen you before, shlyukha. You've taunted me each time I've caught you passing by, and tonight, I'm making you mine."

"It's not my fault you have no self-control! You _DO_ realize I'm not soliciting you, right?! I'm not even female!"

"Beggars can't be choosers, now can they? Any boy who is just as pretty of a slut as any woman could be is close enough." With the iron grip he held onto me with, it was easy for him to pull me along towards the nearest alley, dragging me backwards. Knowing then what he intended, the panic settled deep in my gut. I fought hard to break free, lashing in his grip and swinging about blindly.

 **"GET. THE FUCK. OFF ME, YOU SICK FUCK!"** I yelled at the top of my lungs, but his hand clasped over my mouth in one fluid sweep and dug nails into my cheeks, effectively muffling anything else that tried to escape. With his other arm encircling my waist, he twisted until I had been roughly shoved to the surface of the building nearest to me. The grit of bricks rubbed my chest raw as my jacket was unzipped, my shirt violently torn from my torso - my upper half now unwillingly exposed to the elements.

"Shh. It will all be over soon," he crooned into my ear, his rough, callused touch kneading along the small of my back and sending chills through me from this alone. I put up one hell of a struggle, biting at his hand and jerking in his grip as the pain searing through my scalp and the scraping of coarse clay along my chest brought tears to my eyes.

I could hear the satisfaction in his sigh as his palm cupped my ass and slid lower, leggings and underwear being next as he pulled them down my thighs. The biting cold stung at my flesh, and the scuffing didn't cease. The friction burn only increased as what little remaining clothing I wore found itself around my knees.

It became increasingly difficult to fight back when my assailant was putting all his force into holding me down. I heard the clinking of a belt and the hiss of a zipper as my hips were angled further towards him.

When I cried out all the louder, two fingers were nudged inside my mouth, of which I bit in hopes he would relinquish. The air that managed to get into my lungs was thick and painful as I tried to breathe properly. By then, I could barely register the reality of what was happening; everything was moving so fast that the world seemed to spin.

"Keep biting. I can't promise I won't hurt you, but I promise I'll make you enjoy it."

I clamped my eyelids tight, another attempt suffocated by the digits trying to stuff themselves down my throat. I couldn't think straight. This wasn't happening. _This wasn't happening._

S-stop touching me. _Please..._

 _"You might be shit at making promises, but I can make a promise of my own."_

The grip released in a matter of seconds as the man was pried off, gasping out for air as the fingers were torn from my mouth. Propping myself against the wall, I tried not to collapse under the trembling of my body; I didn't dare look back, but the snap of a strike and a strangled yelp did well to assure me of what was happening.

Someone had found us.

"Nngh. Fuck. Can't you see I was-"

"Not another word. If I see you lay a hand on anyone again, I will not hesitate to bury you into the ground with my own two hands. I do not consider myself a violent man, but I am not opposed to do what I must to keep an innocent person safe. Understood?"

"Ha! You wanna steal someone's lay that badly? Keep the bitch! Not worth the trouble!"

"Get the hell out of here, or I will fulfill my promise sooner."

The huffing and scuffling that followed were fair signs of the assailant's retreat, leaving me and the newcomer in the alley alone. More dampness burned at the corners of my eyes, yet the only sound that could leave me was hoarse panting. The rampant pounding of my heart was barely beginning to calm when it spiked from a gentle squeeze upon my shoulder.

"Hey, are you alright?"

I whipped my head to look behind me. In place of the assailant stood a man who towered over me - one clad in leather, with sharp features that softened once his gaze caught mine.

"Are you alright?" He repeated, the question seeming out of place for someone like him. I held no doubt that this man could handle his own with ease - overpower someone like me.

"D-don't. D-don't...look," I finally managed out of my daze, realizing just how naked I still was and lifting myself to full height.

"Sorry, sorry." Surprisingly, he released his grip and averted his gaze. I shook as I reached for the material at my knees, covering the exposed flesh while lifting them with one upwards tug. He may have been gone, but I felt unclean. In addition, without a coat and shirt, I felt nearly frostbitten.

"T-Thank you. W-who are you? Where did you even come from?!" I turned to him for answers, waiting and skeptically hoping that he wasn't an additional threatening presence.

"Otabek Altin. I am residing in this country temporarily. Not here to bring you harm, I swear. " His dark eye glimpsed right into me as he stared me down, taking a moment to kneel and pick up the remainder of my clothing. "I was inside of the club on the corner. I heard the commotion when I came outside to head back to my apartment. I found you. I wanted to help." The foreigner turned his head upward. "Really late to be wandering the streets alone, especially for someone so young."

I couldn't help but scoff. Even though this guy bust ass to help me, he was unusually concerned for my well-being. Why, of all people, should a complete stranger care?

"What's it to you? Are you on patrol?"

"No, simply a visitor to this place as of now. I can only advise you to take precautions." Something about this Otabek guy was that he held a sense of calm as he spoke, even when making threats. It was a quality that fell between comforting and unsettling. With the clothing now folded along his arm, he stood and passed them towards me. "Even in my homeland, being out alone at night can be dangerous."

After what I experienced, I could call him correct in that respect. I cautiously lifted both items from him and dipped my arms into the sleeves of my jacket before zipping it shut. Thankfully, no damage had been done to it, but my practice tank was ruined. I considered myself lucky that it was something I could easily replace.

"Y-yeah, okay. I get it. What about you? You should listen to your own advice and not, er, get involved with shit like that, right?"

"You were in immediate danger. It would have been wrong of me if I had walked away."

"That's...actually really fucking noble of you. Wait, you aren't wanting some sort of compensation for that brave stunt you pulled, are you? I-I have nothing to offer."

"No. I do not expect anything." He was direct - unbearably honest - as he motioned towards the mouth of the alley. "All I want now is to offer _you_ an escort home. I would hate for you to get assaulted like that again after what just happened."

That's right. _Home_. The reason I was out here instead of safely indoors. There was no doubt that by nearing 1:00, Dmitri would be gone, and I could go back anytime. However, I was now 20 minutes in the opposing direction of Lilia's studio - 35 minutes from home. I would be screwed if someone else desired to try their luck.

The last thing I wanted was to let myself become vulnerable. Allowing him permission to drive me would also be taking that risk if his intentions weren't pure.

"I can walk just fine. Don't worry yourself with me." I lifted my hood to drape atop my head, tucking my disheveled braid inside so as to not make the same mistake twice, promptly jamming both hands inside my pockets.

He nodded and made his way towards a sleek black motorcycle parked nearby, sitting astride it and pulling a small box from his own pocket. "Are you certain there is not anything I could do to help?"

Persistent. In all honesty, while his kindness was well-appreciated, it seemed a little too much like he thought of me as a child. I was a month from being an adult; I should at least be able to manage this. "Are you trying to play upstanding citizen? Tch, yeah, no, I'm leaving. Had a long night. I'm going home now. You don't need to help me anymore than what you already have. Do svidaniya."

I finally caught a glimpse of what the box contained as the lid popped open, a glint of silver catching in the streetlight glow as a sleek, white cigarette was tucked between his lips. He lifted a match and struck it, flame igniting the tip. "I apologize. I will let you be on your way. Be careful," he replied with a mumble and shifted his attention away.

Fine by me. He could do as he wished, but I wasn't going to wait and shoot the breeze with him any longer. I turned tail and began heading towards home.

As much as I wanted to push tonight's events as far from my mind as possible, meeting him had been a rather unusual encounter. I should have given him a little more credit than what I did. He did keep that son of a bitch from - well, never mind. I would prefer to forget about that quickly.

Either way, I believed this would be the last time I ever saw him. The sooner I put this night behind me, the better.

As I would come to find out, my fate had other plans.

* * *

 **Translations/Author's Notes:**

 **Spokoynoy nochi/Спокойной ночи = "Goodnight"**

 **shlyukha/** **шлюха = "Whore"**

 **Do svidaniya/До свидания = "Goodbye"**

 **A/N: Finally, the next chapter! Time for things to get a little interesting at the first appearance of our favorite Kazakh. Next chapter coming soon!**


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